


Body Worship

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Series: Forever and Always [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Beka's Dad Bod, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Hope that makes you happy Never (;, Kissing, Let Potya Be An Only Child 2k18, Light Angst, M/M, Praise Kink, Self Confidence Issues, Sex, Smut, Stereo-typical Cat Bathroom Scene, The Kids Talk Pt 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: They’re not young now, they haven’t been for a while, but they’re still as enraptured as they were when they first fell in love.“Let me take care of you,” Yuri pleads, smoothing his thumb over the spit slicked swell of Otabek’s bottom lip. “I wanna look after you.”





	Body Worship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tootsonnewts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/gifts).



> Once upon a time, many months ago, Cat promised Ash a birthday fic.
> 
> Nearly a quarter of a year late, here it is.
> 
>  
> 
> (also somehow this ended up being a continuation in the Theirs verse, don't ask me, I don't know either sorry)

It’s either with the lights off or with a shirt on. Yuri’s noticed it more recently, now that he’s swapped his contacts for glasses and struggles more than ever to see in the darkness, and when he does complain, and Beka switches on a bedside lamp, he always under the covers first. Which, fine, Yuri’s not opposed to. He likes warm, snuggly sex just as much as any other guy. He just misses skin. Seeing skin, feeling skin, with his hands and mouth and any other bare body part.

They stop sharing showers, too. The final straw, where Yuri’s concerned. He’s pretty sure he’s figured out the problem, has been spying Beka through the crack in their bathroom door early in the morning. A set of scales under foot, fingers grabbing at the soft flesh of his belly, a disheartening sigh that makes Yuri bury himself in his pillow, wait for Otabek’s returning, and then kiss him senseless in an attempt to make him forget his insecurities. Sometimes, he thinks it works. He’ll be allowed to roam his hands over the body that he loves, and it will be his fingers grabbing flesh, holding on as Beka opens him up and takes him apart with his fingers, as they come together with Yuri riding Otabek’s dick.

But it doesn’t last. A shirt will be thrown on, or Otabek will disappear into the shower. The door is locked, this time. It’s never been locked before. 

He doesn’t know how to breach the subject. Over the years, Yuri’s sharp tongue has been whittled down to blunt at worst, impenetrable against Beka’s thick skin. But now Beka’s vulnerable, fragile, like leather worn down with years of wear. It would take one little slip for all of his walls to be thrown up, and although Yuri’s poised and practised on the ice, he’s less so when it comes to matters of sensitivity.

So he starts with dinner. Something flavourful, but healthy. Grilled chicken, couscous and roasted veg. A fruit salad to sweeten the deal- and then there’s always what people say about pineapple making come taste better. They eat in front of the TV, a documentary of Beka’s choosing on the screen as they take it in turns to toss chunks of fruit into each other’s mouths, only stopping when Potya gets hit by a renegade grape and hisses at the two of them from her perch on top of her cat tree. Their laughter is light and carefree, and Beka’s smile whenever Yuri breaks away from a kiss still makes his breath catch in his throat, even after all these years.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Yuri finally wills the courage to say later that evening with Beka’s head in his lap. His fingers twist and pull at thick curls as he tries to string his words together. “I know that’s, like, a cliched thing to say, but it’s true.”

“I know, Yura,” Beka says, closing his eyes as Yuri’s fingers scratch against his scalp. He presses a kiss to Otabek’s forehead, and then his fluttering eyelids, before nipping the tip of his nose.

“I just really love you, you know?” He emphasises his point with a long, lazy kiss that leaves Beka leaning up for more when he draws away.  “And if there’s something upsetting you, I wanna try and fix it.”

“Nothing’s upsetting me.” Beka’s brows are furrowed, little lines lacing them together, in a way Yuri knows that’s something bothering him. And what’s the one thing that bothers Beka the most? Lying to Yuri. So Yuri cocks a brow, and tilts his head, in his  _ don’t fucking bullshit with me, Altin  _ way, and watches as Beka’s lips thin until their pale against his skin. “You’re not upsetting me.”

“Well, yeah, I know  _ I’m _ not upsetting you,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. He runs a hand tenderly through Beka’s hair, peppered with the odd strand of grey. To Yuri, it’s the sexiest thing in the world, but there’s a box of  _ Just for Men  _ in their Amazon Prime basket. “But something is.”

He knows Otabek doesn’t like the idea of growing old, has struggled with it ever since he announced his retirement three years ago at the age of twenty eight. For three straight months, he’d dealt with him moping around their apartment, cleaning everything, buying the most awful random shit off the internet at fucking _three_ _am-_ Yuri knows because he’d received the email confirmations. Books on gardening when they lived on the seventh floor, model figurines and tiny pots of expensive paint, an XL bean bag that is only used as a bed for Potya- and it’s not even his favourite one. 

A midlife crisis before turning thirty. That’s what Yuri had told him when he finally put his foot down at getting matching fucking  _ bicycles _ , and the insinuation that he was  _ acting _ old was enough to shake him out of his newfound habits. 

Now accidentally insinuating that he  _ looked _ old is what Yuri’s afraid of doing- not that Otabek looks  _ old _ , exactly. Mature is how he’d put it, in his head. Stubble covers his jaw and cheeks, hiding how they’re not as defined as they used to be. There are more lines around his eyes, around his mouth, laughter lines from all of their time spent together. Otabek’s still strong, could still fuck Yuri up against a wall if he wanted, but his muscles are covered with a thin layer of softness. It’s to be expected, after all- he doesn’t have the same strict exercise regime that he did as a teenager. But Otabek wouldn’t see it like that. He’d see all of these little things, and think of himself as a disappointment. 

And he isn’t, could  _ never _ be, not to Yuri. 

“I know you, Beka. I  _ know _ you,” Yuri says, smoothing his fingers down Otabek’s cheeks, sharp stubble biting into his skin.  “And I know you’re hurting.”

“I just-” He sighs, and pushes himself up from Yuri’s lap. The distance between them hurts just as much as it would if Beka had told him to leave him alone. To leave. But Yuri won’t be deterred, ignores the nervous nausea that nibbles at his stomach to reach out a hand, to lace their fingers together and  _ squeeze _ . “I just don’t feel…  _ attractive _ anymore.”

“Bullshit, Beka. Absolute wank,” Yuri insists, shaking his head. Otabek is the epitome of attractiveness, dark and sexy. Tough on the exterior but with a sweet, melt-in-your-mouth heart. Slowly, Yuri brings Beka’s hand to his mouth, brushes his lips over his knuckles, the delicate insides of his wrist, feeling his pulse jump beneath the paper-thin skin. “You are the sexiest fucking person on the planet.”

“ _ Yura _ .” Otabek doesn’t blush often, but when he does, it shines like burnished bronze. He looks away, eyes closed but quivering, his lashes dancing atop his cheekbones.

“And I should know, as the second fucking sexiest person on the planet,” Yuri says matter-of-factly, moving to his knees so he can lean closer, can press kisses to the rose blossom blooms in his cheeks and run his hands up the swell of Beka’s biceps. “I wouldn’t marry anyone lesser than myself.”

“ _ Yura _ ,” he says again, but Yuri can feel him opening up, can feel the tension seeping from his shoulders as he sags deeper into the sofa cushions, looking up at Yuri with heavy, smouldering eyes that sets a fire burning in the pit of Yuri’s stomach.

“I mean, just look at you. Like really, look at  _ you _ .” And Yuri is looking, looking down at the beautiful man he’s just thrown his legs over. Otabek’s hands cup his thighs as Yuri’s hands explore his body, pushes up his shirt so he catches glimpses of soft skin and silky hair, warm beneath his palms. Trails them over his hips, the thick muscles in his legs, the smooth plains of his back, and feels Beka’s breath fan hot and heavy over the skin of his neck.  _ God _ , everything about him turns Yuri on. “You are so fucking hot, Otabek Altin, I bet you could make me cream my pants like a teenager.”

“Yura!” he says once more, but laughter colours his voice and there’s a light behind his eyes that wasn’t there before, that’s more than a sultry spark of seduction. It’s a glow he hasn’t seen for so long- complete comfort and confidence.

So Yuri takes that as his cue, to gently roll his hips down into Otabek’s and capture the little gasp that breaks free from his throat with his lips, to guide one of his hands down to the front of Yuri’s leggings, where he’s already hard and straining. “Can you feel that?”

“That’s your dick,” Otabek deadpans, and Yuri just rolls his eyes in time with an upward thrust of his hips.

“It’s not just my dick, Beka,” Yuri says, nipping at his bottom lip. “It’s my dick, rock hard, at the thought of your banging dad bod.”

“I’m not a dad,” Otabek mumbles, and Yuri wonders for one heart faltering second if he’s taken it too far. But then Otabek’s grinds up into him, moves so both of his hands are kneading at Yuri’s ass, and mouths at his collarbone. “Not yet.” 

Both of them are blushing, both of them are panting lightly, clinging onto each other as if their lives depend on it. Which, Yuri thinks, they do. Yuri would be nothing without Otabek, every shade and colour of him, every smile, smirk and smoulder, every frown and furrow of his brow. They all add up to the man that he loves, to the man that Yuri’s become too.

And if one day they can be added together, to have a family of their own- well, that’d be pretty damn cool.

“Yeah, but you are totally dad material,” Yuri says when he’s caught his breath, kissing a path down up Otabek’s throat until his lips are at his ear, teeth toying with the lobe. “Gonna be the best father to our children.”

“Yura, please,” Otabek groans, and this time he knows he’s gone too far, but in a good way, because Otabek’s dick is pressing into his stomach, and he’s using that breathy tone he saves when he’s embarrassed by how much he  _ likes _ something.

“And by the looks of it,” Yuri murmurs, slowly running his finger down Otabek’s chest and tracing the outline of his bulge, “You’re like that idea.”

Otabek grunts, a deep vibration caught in his chest, and then they’re kissing, open mouthed and desperate, as if they need each other’s air simply to survive. Whenever they separate, Otabek chants Yuri’s name like a prayer, touching his face, his hair, his hips, wherever his hands first come in contact with, and Yuri sucks marks of his love into Otabek’s neck, just like he did when they were teenagers, young and infatuated with each other.

They’re not young now, they haven’t been for a while, but they’re still as enraptured as they were when they first fell in love. 

“Let me take care of you,” Yuri pleads, smoothing his thumb over the spit slicked swell of Otabek’s bottom lip. “I wanna look after you.”

“Yes,” Otabek pants, baring his throat for Yuri to trails his lips down. “God I’ve missed this so much, Yura.”

“Me too,” Yuri breaths, and reluctantly he stands, but Otabek soon follows him, and then they’re wrapped in each other’s arms once more, where they belong. “Me too, Beka. I love you so much.”

Somehow they make it to their bedroom, blind to anything but glimpses of each other’s eyes when they part to breathe. For a while, they simply stand before their bed, holding each other as they breathe. Yuri smoothes his hands up and down Beka’s back, drags his nails through his undercut, until a shudder rolls through Otabek’s chest and into his own, stirring the heat that’s already swimming through his veins.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek says eventually, peppering barely there brushes of his lips to Yuri’s face. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Yuri tells him, punctuates the fact with a not-so-subtle roll of his hips. “We’ve got weeks, months, to make up.”

And Yuri’s going to make them up. Otabek’s knees hit the back of the mattress, and then he’s falling. Yuri stands between his spread legs and stars down at him, at his mussed hair and the heavy rise and fall of his broad chest. Pressing one solitary kiss to Otabek’s lips, he moves to his belt, fingers shaky in their excitement as he undoes the buckle and pops the top button on his jeans.

He’s had years of practice, getting pants off fast and efficient, but today Yuri indulges in taking his time. Teasing Beka is something that has provided hours, days, of entertainment, and slowly peeling the fabric away, bathing every inch of exposed flesh with caresses and kisses, makes Otabek writhe against the mattress, fists grasping at sheets and curse words carried on sighs. By the time Yuri’s thrown his jeans to the side, there is a very visible wet patch on the front of Beka’s boxers, that Yuri longs to run his tongue over. 

“You okay?” Yuri asks before he does, stopping to tie his hair up with an old elastic from around his wrist. Experience has also taught him that sucking dick is a messy job. 

“More than okay,” Beka says, voice husky and strained, just before Yuri runs the flat of his tongue over the clothed line of his dick and sucking at the damp fabric around the head. After a few languorous licks, Yuri finally pushes down the waistband so the tip peaks out, flushed and weeping against Beka’s stomach, before discarding the clothing altogether. Yuri runs a finger up the shaft, swirls the pad of his thumb in the precome leaking from the slit, before placing a kitten kiss at the head. 

From his marvellous view down south, Yuri can see Beka’s clothed chest shuddering, the muscles jumping beneath the fabric, and it’s wrong, so wrong. Yuri wants to see it all, doesn’t want this barrier that’s been separating them for months now to hold them back, and as he places another kiss to Otabek’s hip bone, he brushes his hand under the hem and splays his fingers over Beka’s stomach.

“Can I take this off?” He has to ask, has to know that Beka’s truly comfortable, and after just a second’s hesitation, Otabek nods against the mattress. Yuri pushes the fabric up his chest, and with a little help, Otabek’s finally naked, laid out and lovely before Yuri. Not being able to help himself, Yuri explores Beka’s body with his mouth as if for the first time, laving his tongue into the hollow of his throat, the dip of his clavicle, taking the bud of a nipple between his teeth and sucking until Otabek gasps under him. 

“You’re fucking perfect, Beka, look at you,” Yuri praises, smoothing his hands over his chest, down to the soft flesh of his stomach. “God, I’m so fucking lucky that I get to wake up next to this every day.”

“Yura,” Otabek groans as Yuri scratches his nails through the dark hair under his navel, then mirrors the motion with his mouth.

“I love you so much,” Yuri continues, taking Otabek’s dick in his hand and slowly stroking as he speaks. “You’re so fucking beautiful. God, you make my heart hurt just looking at you.”

“ _ Yura _ ,” he says again, the only thing Otabek’s ever able to say when Yuri’s got him like this, wrapped around his little finger, right where he wants him. Yuri kisses Beka’s stomach, the neat little dip of his belly button, before finally descending lower. He rests the head of Otabek’s dick against his mouth as he glances up, as he takes in the absolutely wrecked expression on Otabek’s face, lips bitten and parted and pupils eclipsing all colour in his eyes.

“So perfect,” he murmurs again, breathing the words against sensitive skin and feeling Otabek shudder and twitch under him. Slowly, Yuri wraps his lips and sucks, taking as much of Otabek into his mouth as he can and stroking what he can’t reach with his free hand. A broken, breathy noise breaks free from Beka’s throat, and Yuri sits back, keeping just the head in his mouth as he glances up to see a hand clamped around Otabek’s mouth.

“Beka,” Yuri says, and then again when Otabek still doesn’t acknowledge his words. He strokes Beka’s thigh until his eyes open, then reaches out his hand. “I want to hear you. Let me hear you.”

Resolutely, Otabek nods and links their fingers together. Yuri squeezes them lightly before taking Beka back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he bobs up and down, building a rhythm that has Otabek gasping and moaning. Each sound spurs Yuri onwards, and even as his jaw begins to ache and tears sting the corners of his eyes, he relaxes his throat enough to take Otabek all the way down, his nose pressed to the soft curls at the base.

Their room is filled with slick sounds, grunts and groans as Otabek begins to thrust up into Yuri’s throat. Yuri knows that he’s close, can feel the stuttering in his hips, hear it in his breath as his movements become desperate and irregular. Otabek’s fingers tighten around Yuri’s in warning, and Yuri pulls back, strokes Otabek to completion so he can take in his flushed cheeks and the sweat that’s beading on his throat as he whispers his name.  _ Yura Yura Yura.  _ The beat of his heart, the throb in his veins.

Hot come hits his awaiting mouth, his chin, catches in Otabek’s pubes, and Yuri eagerly cleans it all up, bathes Beka’s softening dick with his tongue, even when he whines with overstimulation.

“So good,” Yuri murmurs against Beka’s skin. “You’re so good, Beka.”

“Yura.” This time when Yuri glances up, Otabek’s smiling, and it’s so bright and brilliant Yuri feels the warmth of it seep beneath his skin. “Come here.”

Never being able to deny him of anything, Yuri crawls up the bed, painfully aware of how clothed he still is, and curls up in Otabek’s awaiting arms. Beneath his ear, Yuri can hear Beka’s heart, knocking a steady rhythm into his ribs, the same rhythm that lulls him to sleep every night. But Yuri’s wide awake now, conscious of his own body, the uncomfortable strain of his unattended erection in his pants, how Beka feels under him, warm and alive. A kiss is pressed to his temple, and Otabek’s fingers slide under the hem of his shirt, rubbing small circles into his skin.

“You didn’t get off,” he points out after a while, after the throb in Yuri’s groin has faded and he’s more than content with just laying together, basking in the intimacy of their proximity. 

“Tonight is about you, about  _ your _ pleasure,” Yuri says, kissing Beka’s chest. Fingers tug at Yuri’s shirt, and then it’s being pulled over his head. Otabek tugs out the hair elastic, and a curtain of gold falls around them, hiding their faces as Yuri leans up to capture Beka’s lips, sealing the sighs of their love between them.

“Giving you pleasure  _ is _ my pleasure,” Beka says, hands dipping below the waistband of Yuri’s leggings and splaying across his ass. “Let me love you.”

“Like I could say no to that,” Yuri retorts, rolling his eyes but pressing his smile into Otabek’s neck.

He’s always so gentle, in the beginning. Reassuring strokes and almost tentative touches until Yuri’s left gasping and begging beneath him. Nothing compares to Otabek’s fingers, thick and full within him, opening him up so carefully- Beka always tells him that his worst fear is hurting him, emotionally or physically. He feels his love in every stretch, in every nip to the apex of his thigh, in the words of reassurance he murmurs into the crest of his hip bone. 

Otabek puts him to shame, really; no one is better at body worship than the man with a golden tongue and golden fingers. Yet Yuri can’t bring himself to care, not when, after a longer refractory period than when they were teenagers, Otabek pushes into him, fills Yuri so perfectly, fills his heart with affection, and begins to fuck him until the breath in his lungs puffs out of him in cries of pleasure.

When they come, they come together, Yuri clawing at Beka’s back, two names leaving two mouths, but blending together in the millimetres between them. Everything is hot, tastes like salt and the honeyed words that Otabek breathes as he brushes Yuri's tears away. He never realises he's crying until Beka’s kissing his cheeks, kissing him until the dampness in his eyes melts away under the burn of Otabek’s devotion.

“Shower time,” Otabek says when their chests stop heaving, running his fingers through Yuri’s sweaty hair and tugging lightly at the roots.

“Only if you carry me.” 

It’s a testament to his strength that Otabek can still effortlessly lift Yuri from the bed, throwing him over his shoulder with an arm clamped around his thighs instead of the princess carry Yuri was desiring. Through his laughter, Yuri playfully thrashes around, until he’s roughly deposited on the countertop next to jars of anti-wrinkle cream and firming serum. 

Steam fills the room, clings to Yuri’s skin as he watches Beka move, bending over for a new bottle of shower gel, scratching at his undercut, scooping a prowling Potya into his arms and kissing the tip of his nose. The cat seems quite content to be swayed in Otabek’s arms, because frankly, who the fuck wouldn’t want to be coddled tightly to Beka’s chest and waltzed around a bathroom? 

Observing Otabek babying his cat, cooing a silly lullaby into his fur, brings up other images to the forefront of his mind, reminds him of earlier comments.  _ Gonna be the best father to our children.  _ Jesus, did he really say that? Yuri can feel his cheeks flame at the memory, can feel his body heat even more as Otabek turns to look at him with this stupidly content smile on his face.

“What?” he asks, walking over and offering Potya’s head for Yuri to kiss. 

“I-” Yuri starts, before he realises he doesn’t exactly know how to express that he  _ wasn’t fucking kidding  _ with the dad comments. He wants it, wants to share his life with Otabek with someone other than his cat. They’ve spoken about it, of course- Yuri still remembers blurting out how he wanted kids when they were in the bath together years ago- and now Yuri stares down at his hands, at the wedding band wrapped around his finger and the engagement ring below, then back up at Beka, and he knows.

“I’m ready. For kids,” Yuri blurts out, because that’s the only way he’s ever been able to say anything important. All at once, and with gusto. “If that’s what you want, too.”

“Yura,” Otabek says, so so softly, so gently, as if Yuri’s offered him something so precious, he’s afraid that the slightest stir of breath will damage it. Yuri looks away, hears more than sees as Potya leaps to the floor, and then Beka’s arms are around him, and he’s stroking his hair, his skin, holding him tight to his chest like  _ he’s _ the damn baby. “I want that. I want that with you.”

“Good,” Yuri murmurs, and he’s not going to cry again. He’s  _ not _ . But Otabek is. Yuri’s only seen him cry a few times, their wedding day the most notable occasion, yet he’s standing before Yuri with tears in his eyes and a smile that could melt ice caps. “I love you.”

“God, Yura, I love you,” Otabek says, and then Yuri’s being lifted from the counter and taken into the shower. Yuri’s hair isn’t even washed before he’s sinking down to the floor, Beka following soon after, and they’re laying on the tiles whilst water beats down on them, clinging to each other as they kiss. Hungrily, desperately, frantically- Yuri’s lips have never felt so sore and puffy as they do after he emerges from the spray and collapses bonelessly on their bed. 

Potya glances at Yuri from his pillow, slowly blinking at him in what Yuri hopes is understanding.  _ You’ll always be my firstborn  _ Yuri thinks, clicking his tongue and allowing the cat to curl up on his chest. Otabek joins them minutes later, dressed in sweatpants and nothing else, Macbook in hand and already talking about their options, and Yuri sits up just long enough to make Beka’s stomach his pillow. It’s hard to believe that just hours ago Yuri’s greatest concern was getting laid, and now he’s beginning to plan not only his future, but the future of someone dependant on him. 

_ Wow. You never do things by halves, do you Plisetsky? _

He thinks back to meeting Otabek, the explosive beginnings of their friendship that burned down to the romance that he still has today. He thinks about their first time, in a hotel room in France after the Grand Prix Final where he came so hard he blacked out. To the first time he said  _ I love you,  _ accidentally over Skype, and then catching the next flight to Almaty so he could say it in person. About how fiery and intense his love for Otabek is, consuming his heart, his life, in flames that can never be doused, no matter how many tears fall.

He looks at Otabek now, at the man who’s given him everything yet still offers him even more.

_ No,  _ Yuri thinks, pressing a kiss to Otabek’s navel. He doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't forget! 
> 
> The end of 2017 was just shit, but I hope you enjoy this belated gift!
> 
>  
> 
> I have to admit, this got very away from me- I don't even know what's going on by the end but I feel so emotional about literal Otadad so here we go.
> 
> [ catch me @ zeldaismyhomegirl if you wanna talk or find out what I'm doing next](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> Y'all can also follow me on twitter [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> See y'all soon!
> 
> xoxo Cat


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